The Hardest of Hearts
by Faithfulakuma
Summary: Elijah meets an interesting woman and rather quickly finds himself getting involved with her, but with what happened with Celeste and Hayley, he's afraid to open himself to further hurt, especially to a human he knows he'll lose. Can he give his heart to someone after all that has happened to him or will he end up walking away? Elijah/OFC
1. Woman Meet Man

New Orleans was perfect for her. The _bright lights, big city_ vibe was real, as she always said. When men came to the big city to see the bright lights, they wanted women on their arm when they did so. Conveniently, she was good at being this woman, and so were many others. Most of the time, the men weren't so bad, but _this_ one was currently annoying the hell out of her. Granted, she was easily annoyed. Being forced to dress up nicely didn't help her volatile attitude anymore than his never ending boasting about himself and his own accomplishments. The only thing keeping her from leaving would be the huge amount of cash he'd already paid her, neatly tucked away in the small purse hanging over her shoulder. Fingers decorated in a variety of rings hold a wine glass, clinking it gently as she listened to him tell a story about some big accomplishment. God, she wasn't even paying attention anymore. Instead, every once and a while, she'd slip the glass beneath the table and pour some vodka from her flask into the cup and sip on that. It was the only thing that was keeping her from punching him in the face.

"Excuse me, I need to go to the gent's room." His story finally ended and _another_ moment of relief granted itself as he stood, set his glass down and made his _glorious_ exit from her presence. She watched the door of the gentleman's bathroom swing back and forth with a sigh of relief, letting her posture slink back into a slouch, removing her flask and emptying the last of it into the glass before throwing it back like it was a shot.

"Shouldn't that vodka be in a Cosmo?" A voice asked, and she paused, turning her head to see a somewhat tall man of about five eleven (curse her height!) standing just across from her in a very sleek black suit with a matching black tie and dress shirt underneath. He had a very angular face, the type she hadn't really seen before, with high cheekbones, a strong jawline, and a very straight nose. He had hazel brown eyes, which seemed to dance with years and years of love, life, death and loss, and looked at her with an intense interest. His hair was brown, a very dark brown, almost black which protruded up from his head and seemed to defy gravity. Eyes narrow and she scoffs, grabbing the bottle of wine from the table and pouring it into her glass, needing more alcohol in her when her guest returned.

"No. I don't like Cosmos. I prefer Kamikazes, thank you. Cosmos are for like _fancy_ bitches." She says, grasping the wine glass and trying to pretend to be a _fancy bitch_ as she sipped from the edge. He stepped closer, giving a small chuckle.

"Some would say wine is as well, so I assume you are with someone." He says, glancing around.

"Ah, yes, the bathroom called. He'll be returning soon, no doubt." She sighs, ruffling her dark hair the best she can with how it's done up.

"You don't sound too excited about that." He observes, undoing a button on his coat and sitting down. She quirks a brow at the sudden invasion, but dismisses it, continuing with a shrug and another sip of the wine.

"I'm working. No one is excited about work." She shrugs again. It was a habit. "No matter _what_ their work is."

This only seemed to interest him more, as his own eyebrows raised and he leaned forward, though keeping his elbows off the table. A man of manners, he seemed. However, they're quickly interrupted as her former company staggers out of the bathroom and towards their table. Another sigh escapes her and she can practically feel his anger. By the time he approaches the table, he's quaking. Fists are clenched at his sides and his face is contorted, but considering his short size, it makes him look rather funny instead of intimidating.

"Exc _use_ me?! Who is this? I paid you for your time with _me_ , not with some other man!" His voice is but a squeaky thunder to her, and probably everyone else and she sets the wine glass down. Reluctantly, she gives a nervous smile to the man across the table from her and looks to her former company.

"I can assure you I don't know who this kind gentleman is. We were just chatting in your absence, I can assur-" A sharp, all-too-familiar pain stings the side of her face as it's thrown to the side and it stuns her temporarily, leaving her newfound company to react and he isn't so gentlemanly about it. By the time her head whipped back around, the hand he had just slapped her with was broken and his pained screaming was filling her ears. Slowly, she stood and grabbed the glass of wine, downed it, and set it back down. She grasped his chin and leaned down into his face.

"If you ever touch me like that again, I will cut your balls off and make you swallow them. Is that understood?" She watches as he shakes his head quickly. "Good."

She releases him quickly and looks up, but sees that her rescuer is gone, the door of the restaurant closing slowly with a ring of the bell...

* * *

"Wait! Wait!" She takes off her heels as she chases after him, trying to follow the dark cloaked figure who had just rescued her and honestly, defended honor she didn't even have. He stopped, and slowly turned and it's then that she sees that his eyes are dark with malicious intent, looking like he was ready to tear someone apart (probably that douchebag back in the restaurant). They softened almost immediately upon seeing her and she gives a soft breath, tilting her head a bit.

"Uh, thanks for that whole uh _'defending my honor_ _'_ thing back there. I mean, I don't have any but thanks." She says, using air quotes and giving a light laugh.

"Any man who would strike a woman deserves what that man got." He says, doing up the button on his coat.

"Does that go the same for female fighters?" She asks, cocking her head. This appeared to amuse him, as a grin quickly spread across his lips.

"What?!" She demands, hands becoming more expressive than her face, as per usual. "Is it more sexist to hit them or _not_ to hit them? God! I don't even know!"

"I'm Elijah. Elijah Mikaelson." He says, offering a hand. "And you...are a very interesting woman."

She takes his hand and shakes it, giving a shrug.

"Well, 'y know, boring is well, boring. Gotta keep it interesting."

"So," He released her hand. "What _is_ the interesting woman's name?"

"Amelia. Amelia Weiss."


	2. Allies Become Enemies?

**Note: Both me and my friend, Cas, co-wrote this chapter, as the character of Belial, Amelia's father, is hers. So, credit to her for his characterization and co-writing this!**

* * *

She was on her way home, walking alone, the only sound being the click of her heels. It was a bit surprising considering New Orleans, but she wasn't exactly paying attention. No, she was lost in her thoughts: thoughts of the slice of tall, dark, and handsome she'd meet earlier that night. It was probably a sin to lust after someone you'd barely met, but damn was she a **SINNER**. Unlike most, she didn't commit her sins and then repent for them in the church the night after. Instead, she basked in the joy of defiance and being a sinner in the first place. Speaking of sin _and_ her slice of tall, dark and handsome...according to him, it seemed to be a sin to attack a woman and well...

"Come on out, whoever you are. I can smell you. Didn't shower on the day you decided to stalk someone with a good sense of smell? Not smart." She turns, forcing her muscles to remain relaxed despite her claustrophobia kicking in. She was in a dark alley and she could feel _people_ around her.

"So you're just like your father with your senses. What about your abilities?" The last word is said with force as the speaker launches himself at her. Instantly, fangs extend from canines and nails grow to claws, allowing her to clasp him by the throat before he could even touch her. She stands tall, head tilted back.

"What is this? A test? Who are you? What do you want?" She stares into his eyes, annoyed at the calmness there but is quick to snap his neck rather brutally when she hears more stirring behind her. She turns just in time to grab another invading body and throw them over her shoulder, placing her foot on their chest, pressing with a supernatural strength. She ignores their pained groaning and turns back to analyze her situation, seeing about five or so more attackers and she can sense a few more as well.

 _This wasn't going to be a piece of cake_.

* * *

The door to the home she shared with a Prince of Hell and part time flaming diva with daddy issues was practically thrown open as she stormed in, looking annoyed. Said Prince is quick to turn around from organizing his clothes for an event that evening and is greeted by the sight of his daughter: covered in blood. By that time, she had taken her hair down and it was ruffled and all sorts of disheveled. Her dress, once elegant, is now soaked with pure red blood, dripping with it. Her legs, arms and shoulders are covered in the liquid, some of which is dried and some not.

His eyes widened before he reminded himself that panicking would do him no good here. He could smell the blood on her in copious amounts, and she was covered in it. From the scent, a small amount of it was her own. Most of it seemed to belong to someone else, and he could detect vampire and something equally disturbing in the mix. He had seen worse, he had; the fact that it was his daughter standing here, though, was the difficult part. "Melia? What in the hell happened to you?" A soft growl echoed in the undercurrent of his voice. Whoever it was was hopefully dead now, for their own sake.

She'll heave a heavy sigh (boy was this a day for sighing!) and stride over to a chair, plopping in it rather carelessly. She can hear the blood squelching as it squeezed out of the dress but ignored it, letting her head fall back to rest on the back of it. She closes her eyes and felt her head throb incessantly against her skull as well as the ache of a few wounds struggling to heal. "A bunch of assholes looking for you."

Looking for him? Of course they were. "That doesn't surprise me. Hey, look at me. You need blood that's not your own to heal, and you know it." In another realm where she was perfectly fine, he would be entirely scandalized by the scarlet staining the dress he had bought her (nothing but the best). This, however, was not that universe, and he carefully rested a wing over her shoulders. "Who were they? They probably told you. Can do something about them. That's assuming you didn't finish the job, of course."

She threw her head back and laughed. How like her it was to take death and injury so lightly. She'll stand slowly, and glance at the red print of her left behind on the chair and give him a cute look, one hoping for forgiveness. "Are you kidding me? I fucking shredded 'em. I think only one was left alive after I was done and even then, he wasn't talking when I left him."

While he was a bit annoyed at the imprint left in the Italian leather ( _better_ than the best), he sighed, shifting his wing and making sure it didn't put weight on the obviously more injured side of her body. "Of course you did. But their little group was part vampire at the minimum, and to be quite honest, their blood stinks. Meaning I don't know what sort of mix they might be right offhand. That's the issue. For someone with a fallen angel for a father, you're surprisingly unaware of how many things can pull themselves back together."

It's about that time where she can feel her body begin mending the wounds and blood retreating into the cuts, and she gives a soft groan as the skin begin to knit itself back together as if it hadn't been cut open in the first place. "I know their blood stinks, I've had it on me half the way home. It's like...I don't know, a fucking sewer. They didn't find me as I was walking home, so they obviously _didn't_ mend themselves or ran back to their leader."

He rolled his eyes, looking her over and making sure that the wounds had closed. "That second part is what worries me. They have to have a leader to know who I am, and they know who you are, too. Just come on. Go wash that off and I'll get you something else. I can skip out on going to this gala, just in case." He didn't want to, and she might be fine here by herself. But all the same, she could have a bad reaction to healing, or whoever it had been could...yeah, he was staying here. "I'll ask my contacts for anything they've seen recently."

She rolled her own eyes at him. A family habit, it seemed. "Oh, right, like I _wasn't_ going to wash this shit off." She'll start towards the shower and pause before turning on her heels. "You know, you could still go. I'll be fine here. I just won't leave and whatnot."

"Amelia, go wash." It was either he left and she went with him, which by the limp in her step was not going to happen, or he stayed. Besides, galas meant entertaining idiots and regaling them with stories of why he was such an impressive political figure, while everyone around him did the same. There just happened to be alcohol involved, along with a minor dose of hatred almost everyone held for at least three people in the room. You couldn't have a hierarchy party without that. He usually enjoyed them, but it would be difficult to amuse imbeciles with this on his mind. Belial had enemies, yes, but he hadn't had anyone looking for him _recently_ that he knew about.

* * *

"Ah, Elijah. It's good you're here." Niklaus Mikaelson spoke aloud, hearing his brother enter the room of the compound as he turned to face him, spinning on his heels. "As surprising as this may seem, I will need your diplomacy."

The other's brow raised with clear interest and he crossed his arms, legs spread as he stood. "Oh? What for?"

"I have heard that a Prince of Hell is in town and I would very much like to converse with him. However, we need him on our side and you know how I am with words." He says, striding over and past the brother, expecting him to follow.

* * *

He was a few hours into interchangeably looking up information and watching a shitty Days of Our Lives marathon when he caught a whiff of whatever the hell that sewer smell was. Melia had washed those clothes, hadn't she? Needed to throw them out, probably. He stood up, about to ask if she had, when it hit him firmly in the face. That smell was an affront to humanity. Considering how little he respected humanity, that was saying something. Direct source, then. He huffed and bared his fangs in annoyance, but he was internally kind of satisfied that they had the balls to show up. Vampires, regardless of whatever else they were, could only enter by being invited. Meaning this would only serve to make a point. He flung the door open, wings flared, and let out a growl. " _What_ are you doing here? You could have just come and spoken to me, you know, instead of taking it out on her. That's verging on immature. Psychotic is too flattering."

Granted they hadn't exactly been expected to be greeted with open arms and tea, they hadn't been expecting to be greeted with an angry Prince of Hell baring his teeth and wings, and growling at them. However, it sets Niklaus off and he's baring teeth, eyes going a cold steel blue and scelera a deep red, almost like blood. He lunges at the other, but is stopped by an unseen barrier. Elijah gives his brother a knowing look and removes his hand from his pocket. Now was the time for his diplomacy. "I do not know of what you mean by _taking it out on her_ or this her you speak of, but I can assure you that we did come here peacefully, contrary to Niklaus' behavior."

He tilted his head, arching an eyebrow at Niklaus and taking on a comically dull inflection to his voice. "...Really. I'm so intrigued. Let me detail how interested I am in this entirely fascinated tone, because your version of peace seems so peaceful thus far." Bel huffed, looking at the other man. "Get to the point. My daughter comes home covered in wounds and smelling like your filthy blood and you show up right after. And you're kind of interrupting my show. What is it you want? If it's money, that's no object, although that suit has a Prada tag on it, so I'm assuming not. Power is interchangeable but runs out eventually, and hero worship is...well. You don't exactly have to find me specifically for that, but I'm flattered you would try."

Niklaus only grows more angry by the minute, practically clawing at the invisible barrier keeping him from the other whilst glaring at Elijah, who was trying to reason with this, as he saw it, _stupid fool he wanted to shred_. His blood is boiling and he can feel sweat upon him, mind already running through a million ways to kill the other. Regardless, Elijah is as calm as ever, drawing closer to the door. "Please, invite us in. I promise, I will keep Niklaus from harming you, or your daughter. I can assure you that we were not involved in whatever harm may have befallen her and I will get to the bottom of it. You have my word."

"The word of a vampire is an interesting thing. I've never been given that before." This could be...worth it. "I'll let you in. Not him, until he stops going rabid. You can come in, whoever you are." He looked carefully at Niklaus, huffing in annoyance. "Melia, we have...guests."

"I'm Elijah Mikaelson." He gave a short bow before standing tall and glancing back at his brother, who was quick to calm down, rolling his shoulders as fangs retreated and blue-green eyes returned. "This is my brother, Niklaus Mikaelson. I apologize for his behavior."

That was a fast transformation. Too fast. He didn't trust it in the slightest. Still, he was finding it necessary to bring them both to find out what he wanted to know and get them out of here more quickly. "Fine. Both of you can come in." He was absolutely setting some magic on the door to keep them from entering after this. Now they had access to his house. Might just have to move house- he had plenty to move to. "Now that you're standing in my living room, what do you want?" ...This would be much more intimidating if he hadn't left Nutella on the coffee table and Days of Our Lives on television.

"Dad? Where is my dress from last night?" Feet coming down stairs as the familiar voice rings out, and as the girl from last night (and the daughter in question!) appears from the spiraling staircase, Elijah immediately feels any negative feelings subside and surprise find his features. It quickly finds hers too and she descends the staircase completely, eyebrows raised, looking to Belial. "Dad? What's going on? Why are the Mikaelsons here?"

"Amelia!" They could make a move to hurt her or kidnap her or- ...wait. "What? ... How do you know these people? Why would you find out their names while they're attacking you? And I thought you said they were dead! Or likely to be, anyway." This entire thing just compounded its confusion, and he let out a groan. "Amelia, please explain what in the Luciferian hell is going on here."

She moves to stand beside her father, arms crossing over her small chest and she feels small underneath his gaze. "These two didn't attack me. I met Elijah," She gestures to said man, "Last night when he saved me from a _douchebag_. The guys who attacked me were dead. Plus, Dad, the Mikaelsons are fucking legendary. Like, know your history."

" _For the record_ , watch your sass. I'm still your father. And I've lived history since history existed. I don't make myself an issue with the creatures that live among humans unless I have to, so it's no surprise I don't know who these people are. Why would they save you?" Excusing his statement with the fact that 'well, they're vampires' seemed a bit bigoted, considering he had no room to talk. "If they saved you, then who actually attacked you?" He shot a look at Elijah, wings flapping in small motions restlessly.

"Well, I don't think _they_ would save me. That one looks a bit mean." She points at Niklaus, who growled a little. "But Elijah would and he did. He was **kind** to me, father, so do to be kind to him." She'll hug his side, knowing how annoyed he was and hoping it would smooth his mood out. "I don't know know who attacked me. Like I said, they didn't say who they were, but they wanted to know if I was like you and in what ways."

He growled, wrapping a wing protectively around her. "Fine. I'll be agreeable to these two. So then I need to do more research on who exactly it was that did it. I'll ask around more." ...So then what had those two wanted? "...In that case, what is it, precisely, that you two saw the need to seek me out for?"

Elijah stepped forward. "We heard there was a Prince of Hell in town. We wanted to meet you and hopefully, form an alliance with you, if you wouldn't be completely adverse to _these two_." He'll grin. "I can assure you that while you might find my brother difficult to agree with, you will find me quite agreeable."

...The man at least knew his way around politics and how to dress well. "I could entertain the thought if you gave me a decent cause. For lack of a decent cause, a good coercion would do." Bel smiled, gesturing at Amelia. "Find out who did this to her and we'll talk. Quid pro quo, Clarice."


	3. Daughter Father Antics

**Note: Yet again, my friend Cas is co-writing this chapter as Belial is her creation.**

Sitting before a map with several candles around it, a girl with the brightest red hair ever seen adjusts her position before grabbing a handful of the black sand and pouring it across the map. She murmured slowly and underneath her breath: _Chasé la verde la perdo. Chasé la verde la perdo._ The black sand quickly found it's way: right towards Louisiana and around New Orleans. A smirk slowly came to her soft pink lips and she'll stand, the candles blowing out with a simple wave of her hand.

"New Orleans...fitting of you, I suppose. _See you soon_."

She made her exit just as quickly as she'd done the spell, setting out to New Orleans with murder on her mind.

* * *

Having a rich _Daddy_ had it's advantages, one of those being shopping. She supposed she was just like fancy bitches in that she enjoyed going out and shopping for hours, returning home with more bags than one would think a human being could carry. Tucked away in the dressing room of a small dress shop, small pale hands smooth over a small chest, a not-quite-flat stomach, and along her sides, which were a lot thinner than she saw in the mirror. A heavy sigh overcame her and she looks down, in the mirror, at her stomach, and turns to the side. Sucking in her breath, she watches as the 'fat' disappears before releasing the breath and watching it return. Hands curl around the area and a frown comes over her face, sour mood becoming evident. It's like this just for a few minutes as a knock to the dressing room door quickly interrupts, reminding her of where she is.

"Um, it's too..." Another glance into the mirror. _I'm too fat_ , was what she wanted to say. "Small, I'm afraid."

"I'm sure we could find it in another size." The clerk replied through the door as she took the dress off and began re-dressing.

"Oh, no. It's fine. Thank you." Once dressed, she smooths her clothes out, puts the dress back on the hanger, and exits. Handing the dress to the clerk, she gave a friendly smile and told her she was finished shopping and she'd be waiting at the counter. The clerk gave a wave and rushed off to put the dress back while she strode towards the corner in the center of the little shop. Ruffling her dark hair, she found herself looking over the knickknacks sold at the counter. There was candy, of course, which was her weakness, but then there were also necklaces and small figures of lovers. She leaned down and squinted at one, tilting her head.

"See something you like?" The clerk's voice chimed and she jumped a little, surprised that she hadn't noticed her return.

"Oh, um, no, sorry. I was just...admiring." She stands to her full height, reaching into her pocket as the clerk nodded and began to ring up her items. She set the credit card her father had given her that day on the counter, eyes remaining on the figure of lovers. Then, she watched, eyes widening and jaw dropping, as blood began to drip out of their orifices. Squinting, she leaned down again and the blood continued to pour. The clerk continued to ring up her items, ignorant of both her and the strange event occurring right at her counter. "Most...peculiar."

"Hm?" The clerk finally asked, items now rung up. She grasped the figure and set it down on the counter with a smile and a quirk of her brows. The clerk seemed surprised at the sudden appearance of blood, but didn't do anything about it and instead rang it up and awkwardly set it in the bagging area. Honestly, this wasn't the most shocking thing that had happened here, or even near here. Hell, this was _New Orleans_. Weird things always happened. She was quick to scan her card and leave with her stuff, the bleeding figure in hand and bags on her arms. She rushed out of the shop quick enough that she didn't even notice as she ran right into someone. She stumbled back, quite gracelessly, but didn't fall. She's quick to apologize, but stopped upon seeing who it was.

"Elijah Mikaelson. Funny I should bump into you." She says, standing tall and quirking a black brow.

"Funny? How so?" His eyes immediately find her hand, which is bloodied by that moment, but doesn't ask, at least for the moment.

"Yes. I wanted to apologize for my father's behavior. He's a bit..." She looked to the side. "Rough around the edges, you could say...and quite protective, understandably so."

"Quite." He replied, brows furrowing and he'll gesture to her hand. "Are you alright? That isn't yours, is it?"

She'll glance down. "Oh! No, of course not. Believe me, if I bled, you'd know about it. I'm fine, perfectly fine...no need to worry...nope."

"What's with the figure?" He'll inquire further.

 _She didn't want to talk about this. Not with him._

"Um, nothing. Just some cute knick-knack I picked up with my clothes...you like?" She'll lift it, but then lower it just as quickly.

"Yes...it is quite _cute_ , as you say." He's suspicious and for perfect reason, she's acting strange: like she's hiding something and he's convinced she is.

"Well, it was good to see you, but I've got to get home! Good day, Mr. Mikaelson!"

And with that, she's gone.

* * *

"It's eyeballs started bleeding! It's witchcraft, okay?! It's Claire, I think, trying to...I don't know...maybe threaten me, maybe tell me she loves me still. Not sure. Kinda mixed message with the whole _bleeding from the eyes_ thing." She glances at the figure and gives a small shudder, realizing how creepy it was that she actually bought it.

He blinked sharply, huffing at the aura around the thing. It felt...wrong. By his standards. The fallen angel looked back at her, arching an eyebrow. "So something starts bleeding from the eyes, and you think 'oh hey, this could be a sign from my psychotic ex', and you proceed to _buy_ it? Did you inherit your mother's intelligence? I raised you better than this."

"First of all, she's not psychotic. Second, if she's using it for a spell, we could like...trace it back to her. And, actually, no, you didn't raise me better than this." She'll give a huff, crossing her arms and taking on a defensive stance. She had done Claire wrong, which was likely why this message was being sent to her, and she didn't appreciate her father calling her _psychotic_.

"I don't care about your ex's mental state. I care about the fact that you brought this back. Listen to me. Magic leaves marks. Believe me, I know. Meaning she could be watching right now and tracking _us_." He growled in annoyance, picking the weird thing up. "Tell her to quit, whatever it is. She's getting this doll blood on my carpet, and this isn't cheap. Unless she feels like compensating me for it?"

"How exactly do you expect me to do that? Just talk to the doll? Now that makes _me_ look psychotic." She says, taking the figurine from him, almost as annoyed as he is. "Besides, you can afford Prada, Dad, I'm sure you can afford new carpet. Or just some shampooing. Seriously."

"That doesn't mean we waste good things just because we can afford them. Point being, we already had vampires with temper issues in here, and I don't want crazy voodoo in here, too. Turning the house into some strange menagerie lately that doesn't mesh well with us not getting fucking bled out in our sleep or something." He huffed, looking back at her. "Throw it out. I don't care what kind of message it is. Or better yet, give it to some of my subordinates to analyze and we can track her down and ask her personally to _quit_ the misguided attempts at affectionate contact."

"We had one vampire with temper issues here. Elijah is nice. Klaus isn't and apparently, wants to rip your head off or slowly dismember the rest of you while you watch." A shudder. "You say that like you haven't turned the house into a fucking zoo with your weird ass pets. Like your fucking spider...whatever in the fuck his name is. Also, since _you're_ the boss," She'll shove the figure into his hands. " **You** take care of it, then."

"...His name is Leggy. And he's a wonderful companion animal. And don't leave _me_ with your girlfriend's gift of hate-love." He didn't want to even be touching the thing, but he would if he had to. "Fine. Fine, if that's what it takes for this shit to be out of the house. ...Although I may or may not tell Leggy he can sleep in your bed tonight." Moving towards the kitchen to get his cellphone and contact someone to pick this thing up (very carefully), he paused. "...And Klaus isn't hot enough to be kinky like that, let's be honest. Not my type, either."

"I SWEAR TO GOD IF YOU LET THAT _THING_ INTO MY BED, I'LL-I'LL..." She had to heave a breath, thinking of what to threaten him with. "I'll take Rosie to the pound!" Arms cross. She's sure that'll burn, or at least upset him.

The hairless cat in question hissed from where she lay on the couch, lifting her head lazily and flicking her tail. Bel, for his part, looked scandalized. " _You wouldn't_. My elegant little queen is staying right here." He truthfully didn't know why she hated both of his pets so badly. Looks weren't everything, unless image was on him- in that case, it was top notch.

"I would and I will, _if_ you let that thing into my bed." She'll point at the hairless cat as a warning, giving a small glare, before turning the other way and walking out, more than annoyed with her father.


End file.
